


The Riddle

by Rinna_White



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bullying, High School, Homophobic Language, M/M, Musical References, Original Fiction, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinna_White/pseuds/Rinna_White
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lawrence is unhappy, irritable, and afraid to trust. Constantine is a persistently cheerful, musical theater-obsessed transfer student who intends to change some things around here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Why the hell am I posting original fic on Ao3? I guess because why not. Let's see if anything comes of this. 
> 
> This story is set in January of 2006, for reasons. Notably, this means that smart phones are not yet a thing, and post 2006 Broadway musicals do not yet exist. Cross-posted from FictionPress; I hope someone, anyone, anywhere reads this and enjoys it a fraction as much as I do.
> 
> If you are returning to this story, note that Chapter 1 is new and Chapter 2 has been updated to contain the content of what was chapters 1-3. Chapter 1 is *not finished*. It needs possibly another several pages of text. I apologize for posting it unfinished, but I have gutted the structure of this story significantly enough since initially posting that this was the next best solution to completely taking it down.

If there was one thing that Lawrence was truly not looking forward to, it was the start of the new semester. He expected the second half of his junior year of high school would be about the same as the first half, which was… well, at least it had been better than his sophomore year. Most people were finally leaving him alone, he only had to deal with the one bully and his occasional cronies. Even if there were only two people in the entire school who ever bothered to intervene, at least the rest were ignoring when it happened rather than joining in.

Lawrence had somehow managed to lose all track of the days going by, such that he might even have forgotten that it was New Year’s Eve, if not for his godfather sending him a text inviting him to come over and watch the Times Square Ball drop on TV. He considered going; after all, he always enjoyed visiting his godfather and his partner. They would probably be willing to pick him up so he wouldn’t have to drive, even. 

On the other hand, it was freezing out, he didn’t feel like putting on real clothes, and he woke up with a terrible stomach ache, so maybe not. 

Some rummaging through the nearest bathroom medicine closet turned up a bottle of Tums, and Lawrence grimaced at the chalky taste as he chewed one. From there he wandered downstairs to the kitchen, passing through a completely pointless dining room, and poured himself a glass of water. Why the hell did they even have a 10-person table? His parents wouldn’t even notice if he got rid of the thing. Not for a while, anyway. A glance through the wall calendar informed him that his father wasn't due home for months, but Lawrence seemed to remember that his mother – ah, yes, she was going to be making an appearance towards the end of January.  _ And she'll be home for...  _ he flipped the calendar back up a page.  _ Huh. A whole week and a half. That might be interesting. _

Lawrence finished his water and went to sit on the sectional couch in the living room, leaving the glass on the kitchen counter. He pulled a pen and a spiral notebook out of the bag he'd tossed on the couch when he first arrived; the notebook was neatly labeled “Chemistry” in large, block letters.  The first 20 pages or so were taped shut, and not for the first time Lawrence wondered why he didn’t just rip them out and throw them in the trash. Putting the thought from his mind, he opened it to the first blank page (near the end, he’d have to get a new one soon) and started writing.

_ Last day of 2005. At least that nightmare of a fucking year is finally over. Happy New Year to me, I guess.  _

He stared at the paper in front of him for another good fifteen minutes before tossing the notebook down in disgust, not even sure why he was feeling so frustrated. 

The rest of the day he spent alternately watching TV, listening to music, and pacing back and forth through his stupidly, annoying, unnecessarily large, empty, silent house.  

At 9pm, he opened his phone, for the fifth time, once again scrolling to his godfather’s contact — listed under Mr. Dé, since the man was also his chorus teacher he’d gotten in the habit of calling him what the other students at school did — and got halfway through writing a reply to say he did want to go over.

But they had already put up with him for Christmas, (although he knew exactly what Mr. Dé would say if he heard Lawrence use the term “put up with”), and leaving his house at that point seemed stupid. He’d see Mr. Dé in class on Tuesday, anyway. He could apologize then. 

In the end, he watched the ball drop on his own TV, alone in his living room. He sent a text to both Mr. Dé and his partner Robert at midnight reading “Happy New Year.” He didn’t bother with his parents; who knew what time zone they were in, and it was unlikely they’d care. 

As expected, he didn’t receive anything  _ from _ them either. 

*~*~*

“3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!”

Constantine cheered along with his mother as they watched midnight fall on Times Square, curled up on the couch in front of their small living room TV.

“Happy New Year,  _ mijo _ ,” his mother said with a smile, embracing him in a warm hug. 

“Happy New Year, mom” he replied, grinning from ear to ear as he hugged her back. “Here’s to hoping that this one is awesome!”

Constantine considered calling some of his friends back in California, but he knew they would all be together celebrating and calling would be disruptive. Texting wasn’t an option either, since he didn’t have a cell phone. The thought of his friends back home—no, back in California, that wasn’t his home anymore—brought a pang of sadness, but he determinedly pushed the feeling aside. He was confident in his ability to make new friends, and by this time next year he was sure he’d have people to celebrate with out here. Besides, celebrating with his mother meant neither of them was alone. She was starting from scratch here as well, after all. 

“Ready for your first day?” his mother asked him, a grin on her face as she ruffled her hair, messing up the already frazzled curls even more..

“Definitely!” Constantine replied. He attempting to comb his hair back into place, but it was a lost cause. “It’ll be exciting!” Looking backward had never served him well, and he was determined to stay positive about this entire move. 

*

“I wish you didn’t have to work on New Year’s Day,” Constantine said with a sigh, sitting at the kitchen table and watching his mother get ready for the day. 

“Hospitals don't have the luxury of closing, mijo,” she replied, slinging her purse over her shoulder and fiddling with her shoes. “Someone’s got to be there.” With that and a quick kiss on his forehead, she was out the door.

That they could use the money she would get from overtime hours went unsaid. Constantine tried not to feel guilty, knowing it was his fault that they had to move across the country. His mother had been supporting the two of them on her own for the past eight years, their saving limited enough that the move had been a considerable strain. That said, the cost of living was much cheaper in this area, his mother was working at a slight pay raise from her old job, and their finances were on track to improve. Moving to the other side of the country might even be a relief for his mother as well, or so Constantine hoped. She had never really stopped grieving for his father.

Constantine spent most of the day physically and mentally preparing for his first day at a new school, with a brief break to call a couple friends from California. He spent a long time debating over outfits, longer than he would care to admit to anyone, before settling on something in his usual flashy style. Not like he really cared what people thought of him, especially not if they were going to judge him negatively for being himself. 

Outfit decided, Constantine decided on a whim to go for a walk outside. They’d only moved in a week ago, and he still found it fascinating how different everything looked outside the apartment. The architecture for one, with buildings that tended to be tall and narrow rather than short and wide. The trees even more so; there were a good deal more of them than he was used to, in a wide array of unfamiliar varieties, though it was hard to tell for certain when so few of them had leaves. The most significant change, of course—the biggest thing that made it clear that he was in New England as opposed to California? Snow. Snow actually on the ground, measurable by feet, which was just insane. Well, that and the equally insane cold. The snow itself was fantastic, as far as he was concerned. Definitely the first time in his life he'd ever seen so much in one place. The excitement might eventually wear thin, but for now it was more 'pro' than 'con'. The temperature was much less fun, especially with a coat that was designed for the "cold" of Sonoma County. He didn't stay outside for long, but he was still shivering by the time he got back. 

He didn't want to be a financial burden, Maybe he could find a Goodwill in town. Then again, maybe this was just temporary,things were bound to warm up eventually. Until then, he could make do. 

*

Two days later found Constantine squinting at the building in front of him, sizing it up. Made of brick, tons of over-sized windows, big double door for an entrance. Definitely looked like a high school. Featuring its own unique architectural quirks, of course, but not so different from his old one.

New place, new school, new people—Constantine was sure he was supposed to be terrified or something, but he couldn't seem to muster up anything but excitement. The circumstances that brought him to the other side of the country weren’t ideal, but he was prepared to make the absolute best of the situation. He took a deep breath, pushed the big double doors open and walked inside.


	2. Climbing Uphill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to credit a really amazing Ao3 reviewer for providing detailed concrit on the original version of this story. Hopefully the story is more readable now than it once was!

It took less than ten minutes from the time he walked inside the building for Lawrence’s dread of returning to school to be justified. 

"Out of the way, fag!" A familiar voice called out, just before he felt himself being shoved into the lockers lining the hallway. Despite his best attempts, he fell hard on hastily outstretched forearms. Naturally, the fall was met by laughter from the offending parties. Lawrence glared at the floor, willing himself not to show how much the fall had hurt. Tile floors were a bitch to land on.

"Don't bother getting up," the voice continued, deceptively casual. "Dirt belongs on the floor."

Cory, of course. Who else would it be? Lawrence felt his eyes sting, but he was determined not to give them that satisfaction. Not like this was something unusual, anyway. He got crap from them all the time, Cory and his stupid little buddies. I should be used to it by now, he told himself bitterly.

Cory appeared to have made it his personal mission in life to ensure that Lawrence's life was constantly a living hell, and was doing a damn good job of it so far. Even now, it hurt to look at Cory's face twisted with malicious intent. Lawrence nearly choked on the bitterness that thought gave rise to.

No one ever joined in besides Cory's established lackeys, at least. That didn't make it hurt any less when the hallway was crowded with the traffic of students on their way to classes, and not a single person paused except to stare.

"Hey asshole, what the hell?" An unfamiliar voice came from somewhere above Lawrence. "Leave him alone!"

That was a surprise. A complete shock, more accurately. No one except the occasional teacher (and one student, when she happened to stumble upon these scenes) had ever bothered to lift a finger on his behalf, and the voice definitely wasn't familiar. The mysterious intervener didn't look familiar, either, and Lawrence was certain he'd have remembered seeing someone like that around school.

He looked like he was around sixteen or seventeen, probably a junior like Lawrence, maybe even a senior. His clothes were bizarre; he wore a white shirt with some kind of logo that Lawrence couldn't quite make out, beneath a dark green military style jacket with a multitude of colorful buttons and patches on it. His pants looked like they had once been perfectly normal denim jeans, until a marker (or really several markers, plus some splashes of paint for good measure) had been taken to them to make rainbow designs down the length of each leg. To finish it off, he wore vividly purple tennis shoes complete with hot pink laces.

_ He's completely insane _ , Lawrence thought with something like awe, staring openly. Hard to deny that this guy was worth looking at for a few reasons other than his strange ensemble—but Lawrence berated himself for the thought. He absolutely refused to be taken in that easily.

"Who the hell are you?" Cory snarled at the newcomer.

"New kid or somethin'?" one of Cory's cronies supplied articulately. Regular fucking Einsteins, the people Cory tended to surround himself with. Lawrence suspected Cory hand-picked them so he could feel smarter by comparison.

"New kid, huh?" Cory repeated disdainfully. He shoved the newcomer backwards in some pathetic display of masculinity. "What's with your fucking outfit? You a fag too?"

"Sure am," the stranger grinned unexpectedly, barely stumbling at the hard shove he'd received. Then his grin took on a more seductive tone (at which Lawrence sucked in a breath.) "You want some?" he said, wagging his eyebrows in a ridiculously fake suggestive come-on.

Cory's face was a picture in disgust, and he backed away immediately. "You're a fucking freak."

"Yeah, yeah, rubber, glue, whatever," the other guy laughingly responded. "Kindergarten play time now, is it?'

"Fuck this, you're not worth my time." Cory spat, the look on his face bordering on hateful. He turned to look directly at Lawrence and added, "you never were." With that he spun around and stalked down the hallway, his sycophants on his heels.

Which left Lawrence in the now nearly deserted hallway, alone with this incredibly weird stranger who'd stepped in and made a better show of standing up to Cory than Lawrence had ever managed in his life. He suddenly realized the bell must have rung, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Or to stop starting, actually. Lawrence continued to sit on the floor, back against the wall, so lost in his own thoughts that it must have been a comically long while before he realized that the other boy was holding out a hand to him.

"My name's Constantine," the guy said with a breezy grin, the moment Lawrence focused on him. There was a flicker of underlying emotion on his face. Concern? Pity? Whatever it was, Lawrence didn't want it. Constantine's eyes seemed to bore into his, gaze strangely intent. Lawrence couldn't come up with anything to do except stare back.

"Are you okay?" Constantine (and what kind of a mouthful name was that, anyway?) asked finally, his expression growing visibly concerned when Lawrence continued to not move.

"I'm fine," Lawrence snapped, climbing to his feet by himself.

"O-kaaay," Constantine trailed out, raising an eyebrow. "That sounded completely believable."

"What the hell do you care?" Lawrence returned irritably. "You don't even know me."

"So the Good Samaritan thing's gone out of style, then?" Constantine looked of all things  _ amused _ .

"Fine, you have my eternal gratitude. Is that what you're after?" He crossed his arms, glaring at this Constantine while avoiding actual eye contact. He couldn't say why this person was unsettling him so badly, but the combination of that plus dealing with shit from Cory and feeling embarrassed over the whole incident did not exactly leave him at the top of his game. Thus, his general irritation at the world was winning out over the voice that reminded him that this person had just helped him and why was he being like this?

"No, I obviously helped you for your sexy body," Constantine returned a beat later, sounding equal parts exasperated and like he was stifling laughter.

At first Lawrence stared blankly at Constantine, his mouth agape. Once his brain processed the sentence enough to form a coherent response, he responded in an embarrassingly strangled voice, "Are you trying to fuck with my head?"

Constantine looked like he was trying to keep a straight face and failing. “No,” he said, suppressed laughter audible in his voice. Then, in the same faux-suggestive tone from earlier, “Just you, baby.”

That was when Lawrence decided he was done. “Very funny,” he said, his voice almost a growl, before he turned and stalked off down the hall.

His English teacher gave a disapproving glare as Lawrence walked into class late. She'd always hated him, anyway. "Do you have a pass, young man?" she demanded in a grating, nasal voice.

Wordlessly, Lawrence shook his head, matching her glare with the worst death glare he was willing to pull on a teacher.

"Well, then," she said, looking highly unimpressed. "Come see me after school."

Lawrence fell into his chair with a clatter, glaring intensely at the surface of his desk as the teacher went back to the lecture of the day. He felt bitter towards towards everything; Cory, the world, stupid annoying new-transfer-student Constantine, the school, just… everything. He would bet that Constantine hadn't gotten in any trouble for being late to class at all. The fact that as a new student he almost certainly wouldn't just served to irritate Lawrence even further.

At the very least, he figured that he'd have a good long time to process the events of that morning before seeing Constantine again. 

That might have been why he nearly tripped over his own backpack when Constantine walked through the door of the chorus room at third period. 

"You!" he exclaimed, extending an accusatory finger. He felt like an idiot, unable to come up with anything more articulate to say.

"Yep, me," Constantine returned easily, wearing his default grin and giving a small wave. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."

Lawrence opted not to reply, instead dropping into a chair and staring pointedly in another direction. He was still irritated about earlier.

Constantine sighed then, and out of the corner of his eye Lawrence saw him drop the annoying grin and look serious for a change. "Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I wanted to apologize for this morning."

That startled Lawrence into turning back around, eyes wide. He'd completely not expected that.

"I went over the top," Constantine continued, by all appearances completely sincere. "I thought it was funny at the time, and I'm used to joking like that with my friends, but the stuff I said to you wasn’t appropriate given the circumstances, especially since we barely know each other. So yeah, I'm really sorry about that."

The apology was so unexpected that Lawrence honestly wasn't sure how to respond, or even what to think about it. After an uncomfortable pause, he looked away and muttered, "Fine." He supposed it was nice that Constantine apologized, maybe he wasn’t a complete jerk, but it didn't really change much. Not like they were suddenly going to be friends or anything.

"So let's be friends?" Constantine added brightly, resuming his cheerful persona and sitting in the previously empty seat next to Lawrence.

Lawrence jerked back, unnerved by the coincidental timing and trying to process how he felt about that statement. Question? Statement? Was Constantine making fun of him again?

"Hey, a new face!" An approving voice came from over Lawrence's shoulder, making him jump. He hated when people appeared unexpectedly behind him. "Male, too,” the voice (which Lawrence belated recognized as belonging to an alto in class named Giselle) continued. “Even better. Please tell me you sing well."

The last bit was said with a playful tone, but Lawrence knew enough to hear the hint of genuine desperation in Giselle’s voice. Their school chorus badly lacked lower voice parts; the sopranos and altos outnumbered the tenors and bass almost six to one, even with a couple of low altos singing tenor.

"Well, I like to think so," Constantine returned with a cocky grin, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers behind his head. "But feel free to form your own opinions. And of course, please do tell me if all this time I've been deluding myself and actually sound horrible."

Laughing, Giselle walked around in front of them and extended a hand to Constantine. "Giselle Leblanc. Pleased to meet you. I have a feeling that we're going to get along famously."

"I'm Constantine." He leaned forward to clasp Giselle's outstretched hand and shook it firmly, smiling widely. "And I think I share the sentiment."

Lawrence groaned inwardly. So much for his avoid-Constantine-and-all-related-complications plan. He had so few friendly acquaintances that he didn't want to risk alienating any of them. Actually, Lawrence realized, Giselle might be his  _ only _ friendly acquaintance.

Giselle was almost as loud and colorful as Constantine, both in attitude and looks. Her style was all flowing skirts, interesting patterns and crazy red curls (as opposed to Constantine’s quirky colors), but the feel was similar. Glancing between the two, Lawrence could see Giselle and Constantine getting along like gangbusters. It was probably for the best; maybe now Constantine would leave Lawrence alone. There was no reason to feel anything but relief at that thought. Headache avoided before it could fully set in.

"So, do you two know each other?" Giselle asked, directing the question towards Lawrence.

"No," Lawrence replied automatically.

"We ran into each other for the first time this morning," Constantine answered her, ignoring Lawrence's immediate denial. "Other than that, I don't know anyone at this school. Today's my first day."

"Well, now you know two people," Giselle responded with a smile. Then she paused, glancing towards the door as her friend whose name Lawrence couldn’t remember walked in. "Anyway, It was nice to meet you, I'll see you around!" Then, with a swirl of her skirt that was probably intentional, she strode to the other side of the room.

Constantine raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "She a friend of yours?" he asked, still watching Giselle. It took Lawrence a moment to realize that he was being spoken to.

"Oh—um, kind of, I guess." Lawrence shrugged, staring steadfast at the chalkboard in the front of the room. He didn’t have a good answer to that, really. Giselle didn’t completely ignore him like the rest of the student body, and she was the only student who had ever intervened when he was being harassed, but that was as much from her sense of justice as from any specific concern for Lawrence. He didn’t think they were close enough to count as “friends”.

"Kind of?" Constantine repeated, leaning forward to enter Lawrence's field of vision. Lawrence refused to acknowledge his efforts. Maybe avoiding eye contact would convince Constantine to stop trying to talk to him.

"Yes, kind of," Lawrence snapped, after an uncomfortable period of Constantine staring at him expectantly. "I don't exactly-" he trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Well, he knew how the sentence ended. But there was absolutely no reason that Constantine needed to know his private business. In fact Constantine could very well stay out of Lawrence's affairs altogether, because they definitely didn't—and shouldn't—concern him. He probably wouldn't care, anyway.

Lawrence was spared further pestering by the bell signaling the start of class. Shortly after, a teacher who was clearly a substitute tried to get class started. Lawrence hadn't even noticed their normal teacher’s absence until that moment, though he belatedly remembered his godfather telling him that he’d be out. Unfortunately a substitute teacher meant no singing. Their regular teacher, Lawrence’s godfather Alain Delmonté, better known to students as Mr. Dé, usually left instructions to play a movie. Most of the students were thrilled when that happened, but Lawrence found it disappointing. Singing was something he enjoyed and felt like he was good at, and it seemed like there were fewer and fewer things in his life that he could honestly say that about.

Eventually he realized that the substitute was calling attendance, and remembered he should be paying attention. It was then that Lawrence noticed how  _ old _ the man was. He looked like he should be waving a cane, calling people "sonny" and telling anyone who would listen about how much harder life had been when he was a kid.

"Virgil Daubenspeck," the man read off, squinting through bifocals to read the sheet of paper in his hands. The name grabbed Lawrence's full attention, as it was entirely unfamiliar – he'd have remembered a name like that. Idly, he wondered who that could be. Then it clicked in his brain, just as he saw Constantine raise a hand to get the substitute's attention.

"Um, excuse me," Constantine spoke up, immediately attracting the attention of everyone in the room except the teacher. The other chorus students stared at him with a range of curious expressions. Lawrence found himself staring as well. He'd thought the name "Constantine" was weird enough on its own. He could understand not wanting to go by Virgil, but who used a nickname that was weirder and longer than their actual name?

A long moment after he'd read the name, the elderly substitute's face lit up like a Christmas tree (an unnerving sight). "Virgil?" he exclaimed. "Ah, what a wonderful name!"

"Actually, um-" Constantine tried again, but his attempts were futile.

"Virgil is an extremely under-appreciated name," the sub went on obliviously, his tone slipping into the patented old man lecture voice. "More parents should give their children such fine, upstanding names."

"Uh, excuse me, please –" Constantine tried again, looking distinctly uncomfortable. A few students had started snickering.

"This isn't something to laugh at, children," the substitute protested. "Virgil is a good strong, noble name. Why, my name's Virgil!"

This only succeeded in causing the entire class to break out into a gale of laughter. Constantine's face was turning an impressive shade of red. Lawrence was actually starting to feel bad for him.

Eventually, the elderly substitute gave up on the hopelessness of youth and stopped going on about what was clearly Constantine's real name. Once the laughter had finally died down, Constantine spoke up, ears still burning red. "Um, actually, I go by my middle name," he said loudly, making sure everyone could hear him. "I'd prefer if people called me Constantine, please."

"Well then," the substitute harrumphed. Then, after a racking, phlegmy cough that made Lawrence feel vaguely ill from hearing it, the man went back to reading through the attendance sheet.

"Lawrence Woods," he eventually called out. Lawrence half-raised his hand and responded "Here."

Constantine, apparently recovered from his earlier embarrassment, leaned in and faced Lawrence with a grin that was starting to become as familiar as it was irritating.

"What?" Lawrence asked under his breath, glaring at him for good measure.

"So your name is Lawrence, then?" Constantine commented, oblivious to or ignoring his glare, which somehow made him even more annoying.

"Yes." Lawrence replied testily. After a moment's pause, he added an emphasized "Virgil."

"Shut up!" Constantine hissed, face burning once again. He turned away and finally stopped talking. He didn't say another word to Lawrence for the rest of class, through the entire movie that the sub put on.

Somehow, it wasn't as satisfying a victory as Lawrence had expected.

As people filed out the door at the end of chorus class, Giselle came back with her friend in tow to introduce her to Constantine. Lawrence tried to ignore the conversation, since no one seemed to expect his involvement. He was absolutely not taking longer than usual to gather his things in order to listen in. Abby Gutierrez, that was her name.

"What's your next class?" Giselle asked Constantine, as Lawrence made a show of shuffling some papers next to them.

"Math, I think. One sec-" Constantine pulled out a sheet of paper with his class schedule on it. "Yeah, with someone called Mr. B - er, Boi-"

"Boissoneault?" Abby supplied, her voice barely audible. Abby's painful shyness had always struck Lawrence as an odd counterpart to Giselle's boisterous attitude.

"Sure! Sounds right, anyway, " Constantine grinned, folding the paper back up and stuffing it in his backpack. Which, Lawrence noticed suddenly, sported a purple camouflage pattern. Of course it did. "Math class with Mr. Boissoneault in Room 215. Could one of you tell me how to get there? This building's kinda confusing."

"I'm going there, too," Abby said, looking down and fiddling with the strap of her shoulder bag. "I could, um, show you."

"Could you? That’d be really lovely of you." Constantine's grin brightened a few watts, if that was even possible. Abby flushed pink, and Lawrence barely held back from rolling his eyes. Constantine wasn't that charming.

As Abby and Constantine walked out of the room together, Lawrence finally picked up his bag and headed for the door himself.

He was stopped short by a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he wrenched his arm back and whirled to face the hand's owner. A sheepish Giselle looked back at him, her hands held in the air.

"Sorry about that," Giselle said, smiling in an easy way that reminded Lawrence of Constantine's grins, now that he was thinking about it. The two of them getting along really was inevitable.

"Wanna walk to class together?" Giselle asked. They shared the same fourth period chemistry class, and were occasionally lab partners. Since no one else was willing to get that close to the loser gay kid, he thought bitterly. She semi-frequently walked with him to class, though he wondered how much that was because she thought he needed an escort.   
  
“Sure,” he answered with a shrug, picking up his bag and following her out.    
  
As they got into the hallway, Giselle asked, "So, what do you think of Constantine?"   
  
Of course she would want to talk about him. Constantine was quickly becoming one of his least favorite topics. "I can't stand him," he replied with a loud, sharp exhale.   


"Oh." Giselle looked taken aback. "I saw him talking to you in class, so I thought maybe you were getting along."

"I—sorry," Lawrence replied, immediately trying to backpedal. What had he told himself about not alienating her? "It's just that he's a pain in the a—” He caught himself before continuing that thought out loud and quickly rephrased, “I mean, he's kind of overwhelming. I don't know how to deal with him. He's probably sick of me now, anyway." He finished lamely.

"Did something happen?" Giselle asked with a small frown. Lawrence felt sick to his stomach, regretting the entire conversation. 

"Kind of? I said something stupid, I think, but he said something stupid to me earlier, and I can't tell if he's just making fun of me anyway, so…" Lawrence trailed off, unsure if he was making things better or worse.

"Well, he didn't seem like the type to make fun of people, or to make snap judgements.” Giselle replied with a shrug. “Probably it's just a misunderstanding. You should talk to him about it."

"I guess?" Lawrence prevaricated, wishing this whole conversation would end. And maybe for the floor to swallow him. Also for his stomach to stop hurting, that'd be great.

"Well, hey, at least he's another lower range voice for chorus, right?" Giselle continued conversationally. "I wonder what part he sings, I totally forgot to ask. And, here's our classroom."

It was a good thing she pointed it out; Lawrence was so distracted that he might have walked by it. They both went in and sat down at the tall tables, designed to be used as surfaces for lab experiments. After that painfully awkward conversation, Lawrence was surprised when Giselle still proceeded to sit next to him. Well, maybe she was just being polite.

Lawrence shrugged it off and pulled out a notebook and pencil, attempting to pay attention as the teacher started class.

He made it about 15 minutes in before the stomachache got bad enough that he asked to be excused. 

Halfway to the nurse's office, he decided that his misery more than warranted going home early. He’d only be missing lunch, independent study with Mr. Dé who wasn't even here, and math, which he hated. He could deal with the consequences of skipping the stupid English class detention tomorrow.

Going home early was a decision Lawrence was able to make for himself, since he drove to and from school. He'd gotten his license as early as possible, and his parents did the stereotypical buy your kid a car for their sixteenth birthday thing. As if a car, or any of the presents and money he got from them, actually made up for their neglect.

The drive home from school took less than 5 minutes, arriving at a house that was silent and empty as ever. After tracking down the bottle of Tums (almost gone, he’d have to remember to buy more), he settled on the couch and pulled out his “Chemistry” labeled notebook and started writing.

He got the basic order of events written down, then paused and tapped his pen on the paper a few time, thinking.

_ It's stupid to think he's actually trying to antagonize me. He's just annoying, is all. And I don't want him to be my friend. _

He faltered at that, his hand frozen in place. The words left him with a sense of discomfort he couldn’t place. He didn’t, though, that was definitely true.

_ I shouldn't bother trying.  _ He continued on a new line. _ Making friends, especially with people I barely know, is stupid. People can't hurt me like that— _ he paused, then scribbled out the last two words aggressively before starting the next sentence— _ as long as I never get close to them in the first place. _


	3. Ladies Who Lunch / Purpose (It’s That Little Flame)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constantine survives his second day, learns more about Lawrence's past, and becomes determined to improve the state of the chorus class.

“Seriously, thank you,” Constantine said, walking out the door of the chorus room with Abby. "The classrooms in this school are in a weird order. It took me  _ forever _ to find my first class."

"Oh, um." Abby brushed her hair behind her ear, eyes downcast. "You're welcome. It's no trouble."

They continued in what Constantine hoped was companionable silence. Abby read more 'painfully shy' than 'I don't want to talk to you", but he didn't want overwhelm her. It was a surprise when she was the one to break the silence.

"So, um. How has your first day been?" She looked up, still not quite making eye contact.

"Pretty good!" Constantine replied brightly. Upon consideration, he decided to interpret the question as an attempt to start a proper conversation. "Well, for the most part. The name thing in Chorus was awkward, and my English class was so boring I started making up songs in my head about it." He opted not to mention that morning, deciding it was Lawrence's story to tell.

"Oh?" Abby tilted her head curiously.

"Yeah, wanna hear?" He grinned, happy to take any excuse to perform for an interested audience.

"Sure." She ducked her head again, but not before Constantine caught a small smile on her face.

"/This is the class that never ends/," Constantine sang, the lyrics and tune based on a song from an old children's show. He keep his volume low, not wanting to embarrass Abby by belting in the hallway. "/Some teacher, started teaching it, not knowing what to do / but she'll just keep on teaching 'til the class is finally through/"

Abby huffed a small laugh, and Constantine was pleased with himself for invoking the reaction. "Very nice."

"Thank you, thank you," Constantine replied with a quick bow. "For the record, I have nothing against the teacher, I'm sure she was doing fine. I just already knew everything she was teaching,  _ and _ everything in the lesson plan she gave me." He sighed, not looking forward to a long, boring semester in that class.

"Actually," Abby began, looking uncertain. She glanced at him briefly, looking away again before she continued. "There's, um, an advanced English class for our grade. Maybe you could switch over?"

Constantine resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead, surprised he hadn't thought of that. "Oh man, that is really good to know, thanks! I'll definitely look into that."

"Oh, um," Abby grabbed on his sleeve and tugged gently, stopping him from walking past the next door. "Right here. The class is, I mean."

"Ah, thanks!" Constantine said as he walked through the open doorway. "And thank you again for walking me here!"

"No problem," Abby said, flashing another small smile before parting ways to find her seat.

*~*~*

At lunch, Constantine scanned the cafeteria for familiar faces. He spotted Giselle first, unsurprisingly.  She was hard to miss; her whole appearance was striking, with a crazy, curly red mass of hair, a face that was all bold angles in a way that reminded him of Idina Menzel, and clothing that was colorful, flowing and covered in interesting patterns.

Constantine continued his search, hoping to find Lawrence as well. He gave up after a few visual passes and walked up to where Giselle was sitting, Abby beside her, at round table with a group of what were presumably their friends. Constantine recognized a couple of them from chorus class earlier.

He wouldn't have hesitated to walk up and ask if he could join them, but it was still a relief when Giselle noticed him and waved him over. He slid into the seat next to Giselle and she proceeded to make introductions. "Everyone, this is Constantine. He's a new transfer student. Constantine, you already know Abby, the guy next to her is Dave Cote." Giselle waved a hand to indicate a guy who, based on the goatee and band shirt, Constantine would bet played a guitar and either was or wanted to be in a rock band. Nothing wrong with that of course, as long as he wasn’t a snob about it. "He's Abby's boyfriend." Giselle made the statement casually, but Abby immediately turned red at the words.  _ That girl brings shy to new levels _ , Constantine noted, not for the first time.

"Amanda and Caitlin you might remember from chorus, Eric and Rachel are band kids," Giselle indicated the others sitting around the table in quick succession. Constantine suspected he'd forget half their names within ten minutes. "And finally," with an extended flourish of her hand, she indicated the Asian boy to Constantine's right. "We have James Takamasa Abbot, one of our few other illustrious lower-vocal-range chorus members. Who ditched class earlier, if you're wondering why you didn't see him there."    


"Hey, it's not like we were doing anything useful," James objected, arms crossed over his black hoodie. He had piercings on his lip and eyebrow that moved in interesting ways when he spoke, and Constantine had to concentrate on not staring. "We always watch movies when we have a sub."   
  
"The sub called roll," Giselle pointed out, though she was already refocusing her attention on arranging the chicken nuggets on her cafeteria tray into what appeared to be a smiley face design.   
  
"Mr. Dé's not gonna care," James rolled his eyes as he separated containers from a stacking lunch box of some kind.   
  
"Yeah, I s'pose you're right," Giselle shrugged, cutting a green bean in half to use as a nose in her food creation. "Especially on the first day of the semester." She proceeded to finish her lunch art by adding a single pea to the center of each of the chicken nugget "eyes".   
  
"Very nice," Constantine grinned, nodding at Giselle's nugget creation.   
  
"Thanks!" Giselle smiled widely, then picked up one of the nugget eyes and bit clean through the middle.   
  
"Oh god, my eye!" Constantine exclaimed in falsetto. "You horrible deranged monster!" Giselle giggled and proceeded to eat the rest of the nugget eye. "Ugh, I am slain!" Constantine continued, making some gagging death noises.   
  
James raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to look sullen even as he was obviously smothering a grin. "You two are perfect for each other, apparently. God help us all."   
  
"Anyway, Constantine," Giselle faced him with a newfound seriousness, her hands clasped together. Constantine honestly couldn't tell if she was joking or not. "I sincerely hope that you will be an improvement to our pathetic chorus."   
  
"Is it really that bad?" Constantine asked, leaning forward to start picking at his own food.    
  
James made a strange snorting noise that could've been a laugh or a scoff. An interesting range of expressions featured on the faces of the other students at the table who were paying attention. Giselle just shrugged and said, "I guess you'll see tomorrow."   
  
"Well, I will do my utmost to be the savior and or messiah of this school's poor, suffering choral ensemble," Constantine said in a mock-solemn tone, a hand to his heart. He got a few scattered laughs for his antics, and a beat later he broke into a wide grin. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Literally. Weekdays only."   
  
After that, everyone went back to eating their lunch or continuing their own conversations that Constantine had little to contribute to. He started mentally singing songs from "Jesus Christ Superstar," after his own words had gotten it stuck in his head.   
  
Some time later, Giselle turned to him and asked in a low voice, "So, what's up with you and Lawrence?"   
  
"What do you mean?" Constantine furrowed his brows, confused. Maybe Lawrence had told her about the bullying thing?   
  
"He seems to think you hate him or something." Giselle shrugged. "I was talking to him after chorus class."   
  
"What?" Constantine was completely taken aback. Where in the world had Lawrence gotten that idea? Kid clearly had some issues. "No, not at all. I was trying for friendly, guess that didn't come across as well as I hoped?" He shook his head in disbelief, remembering how he'd literally even  _ said _ 'let's be friends'. How was that ambiguous? "What's his deal, anyway?"   
  
A pensive expression came over Giselle, and she looked like she was weighing something in her head. "Well... I guess you'd find this out sooner or later, probably better to hear it from someone who actually cares." She bit her lip, tapping her fingers on the table in thought. "Lawrence used to be a lot different than he is now. I mean, he was always kind of moody, but... I don't know. I didn't know him very well, really, just through chorus. He was kind of preppy, and he hung out with middle-rung popular kids. Like, the smart, well dressed student council type, you know?" Giselle looked at him expectantly, and Constantine nodded. Apparently high school cliches were pretty similar no matter which state one was in. "Anyway, about a year ago, some jerk outed him as gay to the whole school and he got really badly harassed for a while. Oh, not that the whole school is completely homophobic or anything," she rushed to clarify, casting a significant glance at the rainbow patches on Constantine's jacket. "This isn't a huge town, and I think it just shocked people, you know? Most people have gotten over it by now, especially after Mr. Dé got the school administration involved, but I think it really messed him up. Like, the people he used to hang out with just abandoned him when it happened." She sighed, poking at her lunch food. "I wish I'd done more. I hardly knew him back then. I try to talk to him now, because god knows he could use friends, but it's honestly hard to tell if he appreciates it or just wants me to go away."   
  
"Damn," Constantine breathed. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment for the new information to sink in. "Yeah, I actually met him this morning because someone was bullying him. No one else even made a move to help him. I can see how that kind of thing could affect someone."   
  
"This  _ morning _ ?" Giselle exclaimed, probably louder than she meant to. "Damn it, I thought people were leaving him the hell alone by now _. _ Seriously, no one even got a teacher?" When Constantine shook his head in the negative, her face grew stormy. "I'd say we should tell someone, but I don't know if the school would do anything without proof. They like to assume that problems don't exist if they can't see them. Lawrence has been through  _ so much _ shit thanks to that." She clenched her fists, glaring at the table as if it had personally offended her.    
  
"Lawrence? The gay kid?" Abby's boyfriend (Dan? Dave?) spoke up. "Man, that guy's a freak. No wonder people give him shit. Brings it on himself, I swear."   
  
"That's not very nice. " Abby's voice was quiet but firm, even as she stared down at her hands. Constantine mentally cheered her on for speaking up, especially against her own boyfriend. Sure she was shy, but he was getting the impression that she was doing her best to overcome that. He felt a surge of respect for her as a person. On the other hand, his opinion of the boyfriend in question had just plummeted through the floor.   
  
"The hell's wrong with you, Dave?" Giselle snapped, transferring her furious glare to him. "He gets enough shit from the brain-dead morons in this school, I didn't think you were one of them."   
  
"Geez, just expressing an opinion," Dave muttered. Constantine couldn't say for sure, but it looked like he mouthed the word "bitch" when Giselle looked away.   
  
Constantine was so unimpressed that it was a struggle keeping a scowl off his face. Abby seemed like such a sweet girl, why would she be dating someone like that? Then again, he’d known these people for less than a day. Probably a little early to be making such strong judgments. (hence not saying something)    
  
Still, if Lawrence was around at lunch time tomorrow, Constantine resolved to sit with him instead. Giselle was great, but Dave was clearly not, and it sounded like Lawrence could use a friend. Assuming Constantine could convince him that he was genuinely trying to be friendly.    
  
"Where is Lawrence, anyway?" Constantine asked out loud, realizing a possible flaw in his plan. "Does this school have more than one lunch period or something?"

"It does, but he's definitely in this one,” Giselle replied. “He skips sometimes, but today I think he went home sick. He left our chemistry class early with a stomachache or something." She poked at her chicken nuggets a bit, then continued at lowered volume, possibly so Dave wouldn't overhear. He looked to be deep in conversation with one of the other girls at the table now, anyway. "Hey Constantine—obviously you're not like, required to be friends with him or anything, but if you do keep talking to Lawrence, please be patient with him? I think he's a good person, he just has some stuff he needs to work through."

"That was my plan," Constantine replied with a smile. "By the way, you're pretty awesome, Giselle. Just in case you weren't already aware. I'm glad to have met you."

"Oh come on, you're gonna give me a swollen ego," she grinned, speaking at normal volume again.   
  
"Too late," James snorted. Giselle reached over to swat him. "Shut up, jerk, " she said, the smile never leaving her face. The rest of their lunch period passed without much incident, and Constantine started turning over the beginnings of several new friendship ploys in his head.

*~*~*

The next day at chorus, Constantine dropped into a seat next to Lawrence again. He offered a grin and a wave for both Lawrence and James, who was sitting in the row in front of them. Easy enough to accomplish, since male voice parts were supposed to sit together. He tried to interpret Lawrence's expression—not quite irritation? Awkwardness, maybe? He was clearly trying to cover it up with a show of irritation. Actually, Constantine was noticing that 'awkwardness covered by a show of irritation' seemed to describe a lot of Lawrence's interactions.

"Are you feeling better?" Constantine asked, remembering Giselle's comment about Lawrence going home early the day before. His question stemmed from genuine concern for Lawrence's well being, but also seemed as good a conversation starter as any.

"Huh?" Lawrence looked mystified, reminding Constantine that he had failed to provide context.

"Giselle told me yesterday that you went home sick," Constantine elaborated.

"Oh. Um, I'm fine," Lawrence replied, looking down at the floor. "Wasn't a big deal."

"Hello students, good to see you all again!” the trim, silver haired man began enthusiastically. “Is everyone excited for the new semester?"

His words were met by a series of groans from around the room. Lawrence just sighed. Constantine looked surprised by the class’s reaction, but he'd learn soon enough.

"Oh come on, our last concert wasn't  _ that _ bad," the teacher objected, trying to lighten the mood. The response was a round of even louder groans.

"They literally threw things at us," a girl in the soprano section deadpanned.

"Seriously?" Constantine whispered at Lawrence, hoping that was an exaggeration.

Lawrence rolled his eyes, whispering back, "It was  _ one _ tomato, some idiot thought they were being funny."

"All the more reason to work harder this semester!" Mr. Dé replied, swinging his fist enthusiastically. No one could ever accuse him of being a pessimist, Constantine decided. That said, he seemed to give up on being motivational for the moment and switched to taking attendance. Constantine once again had to correct for his name, but the process was much less embarassing than it had been the previous day. The class wasn't taken by surprise this time, and Mr. Dé simply nodded in acknowledgement and made a note on the attendance sheet.

The rest of class passed largely without incident. Constantine was confident that he sounded good enough to not embarrass himself, and even saw Giselle flash him a thumbs up at some point. To Constantine's surprise, Lawrence didn't hesitate to share sheet music with him when there weren't enough printouts to go around, even if he did make a show of begrudging the fact. And maybe Constantine intentionally leaned in just a little bit closer than was strictly necessary, but Lawrence didn't pull away, and the flush on his face was pretty damned endearing.

All in all, he  _ would _ have said it was very successful first 'real' session of class...except for the the evidence of what everyone was talking about when they made disparaging comments about the state of the class. They were the most pathetic chorus Constantine had ever seen, singing cheerful pop tunes like they were funeral dirges, mumbling words, half the class going inaudible at random intervals, and with few exceptions even  _ looking _ unenthused and unhappy. Even the exceptions (both Giselle and Lawrence notably included) just looked sad and disappointed.  

After class Abby stayed back to talk with Giselle, waving Constantine on ahead. He reflected on the state of the chorus class, turning thoughts over in his head as he walked down the hallway. The group had potential, Constantine really believed that. They just needed something to motivate them. And who better to come up with that something than the resident new kid? Clearly he’d found himself a purpose, and the thought immediately cued a song in his head. He started singing out loud as he walked down the hall, because why not?

"/Purpose... it's that little flame, that lights a fire under your ass _ / _ " He got a few odd looks, but he wasn't acknowledging the outside world at the moment. "/Purpose... It keeps you going strong, like a car with a full tank of gas. Everyone else has a purpose, so what's mi~ne?/"

He stopped and looked down at the floor, pretending to double take, "noticing" something. By now he’d decided to go ahead and play to his audience. "Hey look, a penny!" he quoted, kneeling down and picking up the invisible object. "It's from the year I was born! /It's a si-i-i-gn!/" At the final word, he held the nonexistent coin at arm’s length, looking up at it for dramatic effect.

At the end of the last note, he glanced around at the crowd he'd managed to gather. A few isolated sounds of clapping occurred when it became obvious he'd stopped. Lawrence was near the front of the crowd, interestingly, although his expression clearly read as ' _ What the fuck _ ?'

Constantine offered a flourishing bow to his captive audience. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all year."  Taking note of the many confused faces, he felt compelled to ask, "Haven't any of you heard of Avenue Q?" Not single expression changed, save for a few shrugs and looks of confusion. "Somewhat recent Broadway musical… really popular… won an award... used puppets…" He gave up, realizing he was only digging himself deeper. "Show's over, people." he announced instead. “For now.” He couldn't resist adding, a self-satisfied grin on his face.  With that, he continued on to his math class.

*~*~*

Constantine’s class schedule included a free period right after lunch, and the following day he decided to use it for a purpose other than just hanging out in the library. He wandered by the chorus room and found it empty, which presumably meant the choral teacher didn't have a class this period either.  _ Perfect _ , he thought, grinning to himself. Talking to the teacher after school might cause him to miss the bus, and that would mean a 20 minute walk home in January weather with his rather ineffective coat.

He found the chorus teacher's office without trouble and was pleased to see that the man was at his desk, the door open. Phase one, success.

“Excuse me?” he called out, rapping lightly on the door. To his surprise, the teacher quickly turned around and shushed him. Constantine’s eyes followed his subsequent gesture to a couch just inside the door -  _ That's pretty cool -  _ then did a double take when he saw the sleeping occupant.

"Sorry," Mr. Delmonté apologized in a low voice. "He has problems with insomnia, so I hate to wake him up when he actually falls asleep."

Lawrence looked peaceful for once; it was the first time Constantine had seen such a relaxed expression on his face. He also looked completely adorable, but this definitely wasn’t the first time Constantine had noticed  _ that.  _ "What’s he doing here?" he asked in a low voice, curious.

"He's supposed to have an independent study with me this period. We get a lot of work done, as I'm sure you can see." The teacher grinned, and Constantine decided that he definitely liked this guy. "It’s Constantine, right? Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually," Constantine grinned widely, excited about his plan. "I had this idea for the chorus I wanted to talk to you about. Maybe we could talk in the chorus room?"


	4. How Long Must This Go On?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something about the musical Dear Evan Hansen inspired me to dust off this story for the first time in a while. It's a very different story, but there's a similar undercurrent of high school angst, maybe? Hopefully the mid-chapter perspective shift won't be too weird.

Lawrence was mystified. The first week of the new semester was nearly over, and Constantine had clearly become fast friends with Giselle, Abby, and apparently James as well. Why the hell was he _still_ talking to Lawrence? Or for that matter, sitting next to him in chorus class? What the hell was the appeal of continuing to interact with the unsociable loner? Well, it probably wouldn't last long anyway. Eventually he'd realize that Lawrence wasn't worth his time and move on, so better not to get used to it. He was already wavering on the border of irritated at Constantine's persistence, better to just focus on that feeling and not get invested. At least Constantine turned out to be a good singer, after all.

 

The whole situation had been unsettling enough that he'd been skipping lunch all week to go straight to Mr. De's office. He had an "independent study" period right after lunch that he was ostensibly getting credit for, continued from the previous semester. In theory, he would be going over music skills and he did legitimately help prepare class materials. (Besides chorus, Mr. Dé also taught two levels of keyboard and a music theory course). In practice, though, he mostly used the period as a time to catch up on sleep, talk to Mr. Dé, or get a head start on homework for other classes. Lawrence did legitimately take music seriously, but having a semi-free period was amazing, and he valued the time to catch up with his godfather.

 

Over the course of two years, several music classes and dozens of visits, Mr. Dé and Robert had begun to treat Lawrence almost like their own son. That dynamic became especially pronounced after the incident in the beginning of his sophomore year. They'd even offered to let Lawrence to move in with them permanently, knowing how frequently his own house was empty. Lawrence refused, not because he didn't want to, but because he was afraid of asking his parents. He didn't think he could handle the relief he was sure to hear in their voices when they said yes.

 

The chorus teacher's office was located in a small hallway that connected the chorus room to the band room. A large glass pane in one wall allowed for a direct view of the chorus room, though the curtains were usually kept drawn. There was a similar office on the other end of the hall belonging to the band director, Mrs. Drape.

 

The school band was actually pretty big, and pretty good; they did pretty well in regional competitions, at least. It was was probably the reason their school had a decent auditorium, honestly. Unfortunately, Lawrence felt like it made the failings of the school chorus even more obvious. Their concerts got maybe a quarter of the audience that the band concerts did, if they were lucky. The poor showing of tenor and bass singers was the biggest problem; the lack of lower range singers made it difficult to actually sing traditional four (or even three) part choral pieces. Not counting Constantine, there were only five members of the chorus who sang tenor or bass, and that one kid Paul Anderson was so horribly tone deaf he barely counted. Lawrence was convinced he’d only joined for an easy credit.

 

As soon as Lawrence reached the chorus office, he situated himself as usual on the small couch just inside the door. The couch was an addition from last year,  when Mr. Dé needed to get rid of an old but still functional one from his own home. Lawrence certainly appreciated its existence.

 

Over the course of what Lawrence considered to be normal conversation, during which Lawrence had shifted to lying face up on the couch, Mr. Dé suddenly veered into an unexpected direction. "So, Lawrence, what do you think of our new student?"

 

"He's annoying." Lawrence replied, scowling at the ceiling.

 

"Is he, now?" Mr. Dé asked. Lawrence couldn't quite interpret the tone, but he didn't feel like looking over to gauge his expression.

 

"Yes!" he insisted instead, crossing one hand over his chest while he gesticulating aimlessly with one arm. "Okay, so first off, let's just say he didn't make a great first impression. Well, conversationally I mean, he actually—well, nevermind." Lawrence hadn't actually told Mr. Dé that Cory was still a problem, he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was. He veered off of that topic, continuing with his mission to convince Mr. Dé (and himself) that Constantine was annoying, "And okay, he _did_ apologize, but he still keeps pestering me every time I see him. I swear haven't talked to him _once_ without him being a huge pain about it. And then you should have _seen_ him the other day, he's total nutcase! He was singing to himself, right in the middle of the hall—”

 

"He's quite an attractive young man though, isn't he?" Mr. Dé interrupted him, the grin evident in his voice. Probably would have winked, too, if Lawrence had been facing him.

 

"I can't believe you just said that!" Lawrence exclaimed, sitting up straight on the couch to fix his teacher with a _look_. "He's, like, 30 years younger than you!"

 

"I was imagining more from your perspective" Mr. Dé grinned, and Lawrence could tell the man was _trying_ to get a rise out of him.

 

"I'm gonna tell Rob you called another guy hot!" Lawrence threatened with a glare

 

"Oh no, anything but that!" Mr. Dé exclaimed in mock concern, placing a hand to his chest. Dropping the act, he continued in what Lawrence thought of as his 'teacher voice.' "Seriously though, Lawrence. You've only just met him, and he's clearly trying to be friendly with you. You really should give him more of a chance than that."

 

"Last time I 'gave someone a chance,' it didn't work out so well," Lawrence responded bitterly, looking away again. "Remember?"

 

"Lawrence," Mr. Dé reprimanded him gently. "We've been over this. You can’t let one bad experience ruin your entire life."

 

Lawrence glared at the ceiling again (the poor ceiling probably didn't deserve all the dirty looks he gave it), but there was nothing he could say to that. Instead he pulled out his math textbook and started on his homework, not really wanting to continue the conversation any longer. After a few minutes of trying and failing to make sense of the numbers in front of him, he ditched the textbook and laid down on the couch again. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep.

 

*~*~*

 

"Must you always sit next to me?" Lawrence ground out through clenched teeth as Constantine plopped into the empty seat next to him at Monday's chorus class.

 

"Well, Mr. Dé hasn't made me move," Constantine grinned in response, leaning back and stretching his arms. "And vocal parts are supposed to sit together, right?"

 

Lawrence frowned. "Your voice is deeper than mine," he objected. He'd noted that Constantine had automatically defaulted to singing the bass line in the last four-part choral piece the class had sung. His voice wasn't super low, so Lawrence was guessing something midrange.

 

"I'm a baritone," Constantine replied, confirming Lawrence's suspicion. "I can go either way." His ever present grin turning suggestive. "If you know what I mean."

 

Lawrence made a noise of frustration. "Ugh, you're _impossible_ ," he complained, crossing his arms and resolutely facing the other direction.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Constantine apologized, though Lawrence could tell he was still grinning. “Hard to resist. Anyway, do you guys even bother to split up the male parts? All but one of the songs Mr. Delmonté gave us yesterday were SAB."

 

"That still doesn't mean you need to sit right next to me," Lawrence insisted, glaring at Constantine again.

 

" _Are_ you telling me to move, then?" Constantine asked, his smile never wavering.

 

Lawrence paused for a long moment, surprised by his own reluctance to answer. "Yes?" he said finally, trying for insistent. Somehow the word came out sounding like a question.

 

"Nope, too late, you paused!" Constantine said, looking positively gleeful.

 

"Augh, you're so –" Lawrence let out an exasperated sigh, not even sure how to finish that sentence. _New plan,_ he thought to himself. _Just ignore him_ . _Maybe he'll get bored and go away_.

 

"– Hot?" Constantine finished Lawrence's sentence. "I know, thanks."

 

Lawrence clenched his hands into fists. _Ignore, ignore, ignore_ -

 

"You know, I didn't expect you to look so relaxed while you're sleeping.," Constantine continued idly.

 

"Wait, _what_?!" Lawrence exclaimed, dropping his ignore plan immediately "When did you –"

 

"I have to tell you, you guys are frikkin _hilarious_ ," a third voice chimed in, interrupting Lawrence mid-sentence. James had turned around in his chair to face them, a huge smirk on his face. "Makes for a great pre-class show. You are way more interesting than I gave you credit for, Lawrence."

 

Before Lawrence could properly react, Mr. Dé was calling the class to order. He settled for glaring intensely at the back of James’ head. Clearly, James was a pain too. No wait, he’d kind of already known that. Though actually, James had never really spoken to him before, and Lawrence was torn between his general irritation at the interaction and feeling weirdly flattered. He then realized he was getting distracted; the important question was how the hell had Constantine seen him sleeping in Mr. Dé's office?

 

"If I could have everyone's attention, please," Mr. Dé called out, as Lawrence continued to brood internally. "I've noticed, as I’m sure most of you are aware, that our class has been a little lacking in motivation lately." There were a few embarrassed noises of agreement. "Our new student, coming to us with a certain degree of separation, noticed this as well."

 

Lawrence glared at Constantine. He grinned back.

 

"Anyway, Constantine here has a proposal for something we might try to remedy this situation. He ran it by me on Friday, and I thought it might be an interesting idea."

 

Lawrence's glare changed to a questioning glare, an expression that he decided was possible because he made it possible. Constantine seemed to get the gist of the expression and nodded happily.

 

"You came in a talked with Mr. Dé while I was sleeping?" Lawrence hissed under his breath, unhappy at that thought for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

 

"We made sure to speak quietly," Constantine responded at the same volume, as though that somehow made things better. "Now shush and listen to our teacher."

 

"…and I think we can pull it off, if we want to. Now, I think I'll let Constantine himself tell you all about this idea of his."

 

Constantine stood up and headed for the front of the class, looking uncommonly excited even for him.

 

Lawrence wasn't exactly sure why it bothered him that Constantine had been in the room while he'd been sleeping. It made him feel uncomfortable, though. Vulnerable, maybe, which was something he absolutely hated feeling.

 

" – a musical that takes place during the time of the French Revolution," Constantine was saying, and Lawrence abruptly realized he'd completely tuned out the first half of whatever he'd been telling the class. A _musical_? "Not a fun time to be in Paris, if you happened to be a French aristocrat," Constantine went on, grinning broadly. The expression on his face was so bright Lawrence swore it could power a small city. "It's called the Scarlet Pimpernel. It'll be a lot of work, even for a concert version, and anyone who wants to be more actively involved needs to make a serious commitment, but I really think we can do this."

 

 _He wants this_ _chorus to put on a_ musical? Lawrence scoffed mentally. _Concert version or not, whatever that means,_ _there's no way they'll go for it_.

 

"That sounds awesome!" someone spoke up. Giselle, Lawrence realized. Well, that wasn't a big surprise. Unexpectedly, however, other voices soon joined in.

 

"Yeah, it totally does!"

 

"We could probably pull that off."

 

"Sounds like fun!"

 

Soon it became clear that there was a general consensus of agreement from the majority of class. Most of them even looked genuinely excited by the idea.

 

Lawrence stared at them all, utterly agape. Constantine wasn't just irritating. Apparently he was also a _brainwashing demon_.

 

*~*~*

 

"Oh no," Lawrence groaned to himself, seeing a determined figure making a beeline for the solitary table he'd secured for himself in the cafeteria. Somehow he wasn't even surprised. He’d hoped avoiding the cafeteria all last week would give the stalker time to establish himself at another table. Clearly, he’d been wrong. With a sigh, he threw down the pencil he'd been writing with and covered his face with his hands.

 

"Hey," Constantine said with what Lawrence was sure was his usual grin in place, depositing a lunch tray on the table and moving a chair closer to sit next to Lawrence. _Right_ next to Lawrence. Invading-personal-space next to Lawrence. "Whatcha writing?"

 

Lawrence realized with a burst of adrenaline that the notebook was still open in front of him. He slammed it shut immediately. "Chemistry, " he declared, after a pause to even out his breathing. The anxiety didn't fade entirely, but he managed to settle back into a comfortably familiar feeling of annoyance. "Could you possibly be closer?" he gritted out.

 

"Hmm…" Constantine tried shoving the seats closer together. It didn't work. "Not without sitting on you," he grinned.

 

"That was a hint to move farther _away_ , not to _try it_!" Lawrence exclaimed a little too loudly.

 

“Sure, sure _,_ ” Constantine replied, laughing entirely too much for Lawrence's taste, but he did scoot his chair back over to a reasonable distance.

 

They actually managed to go several minutes in peaceful silence — maybe the whole lunch table wasn't so bad, Constantine seemed less inclined to talk while eating — but unfortunately, the calm did not last.

 

"What do we have here?" A mocking voice asked from behind them. snapped his head up, eyes wide. He recognized the voice immediately. "Cory," he managed to choke out.

 

Right. The other reason he avoided the fucking cafeteria.   


_x_

 

Constantine coolly appraised the newcomer. It was the same guy who'd been harassing Lawrence when they'd first met, with the ridiculous bleached hair and wangster-inspired fashion. / _So if you don't rate, just overcompensate..._ / floated through his head. No cronies this time, at least.

 

"What's this, Lawrence, sitting with your new boyfriend?" the asshole sneered, twisting the final word to make it sound like something unpleasant and disgusting, which was just bullshit. "How cute.”

 

Constantine glanced at Lawrence and hesitated at interfering, partly to give Lawrence the chance to fight his own battles and also admittedly for fear he wouldn't appreciate interference. He hadn't reacted very well last time Constantine had tried to stand up for him, after all.

 

Lawrence didn't seem to be doing too well on his own, however. He seemed frozen in place, staring at the table with wide eyes. Still – well, Constantine was going to wait through at least one more barb before assuming Lawrence wasn't up to the challenge.

 

"God, I can't imagine either of you two freaks finding someone." Cory went on. "I guess losers stick together."

 

And, that was it. If Cory wanted to make it Constantine's problem too, then he could rise to his own damn challenge.

 

He skidded his chair around with loud scraping sound but didn't bother to get up yet. "Will you shut up already?" he said, trying to affect a condescending, bored tone.

 

"Aw, did I hurt your delicate, girly feelings?" Cory replied in a mocking tone.

 

Constantine did stand up at that, pleased to note that he was slightly taller, and stared him down. "Do you enjoy being a fucktard?" he said icily.

 

"Do you enjoy being a freak?" Cory countered. "I heard about your little incident in the hallway."

 

"Actually, I do," Constantine broke into a sudden grin. This Cory was a moron if he thought that was going to get him.

 

"What?" Cory seemed taken off guard by the casual response.

 

"You heard me," Constantine shrugged with an air of cheerful superiority. Then, just to add icing to the cake, he started singing. (And even if no one else would recognize the song from Boy George's musical and understand why it was relevant to the situation, _he_ would, damn it.) “/Give me a freak, any day of the— /”

 

"What the hell?” Cory cut him off with an expression of disgust. “You fucking schizophrenic, someone should throw you in a loony bin!"

 

“Sure, as soon as someone throws you in jail for assault,” Constantine replied agreeably.

 

Cory's lips twisted. "You're such a – "

 

"Freak?" Constantine suggested with a grin.

 

Cory growled in frustration. "Fine, just go fuck your little boyfriend, ” he threw out as a parting shot before stalking away.

 

Constantine shook his head, sitting back down. "Wow, he takes being an ass to exciting new levels." he said aloud. No fucking wonder Lawrence was so messed up, if he'd been dealing with this as long as Giselle had indicated. "Does he – Lawrence?" he cut himself off, noticing that Lawrence was _still_ frozen in place, and seemed to be breathing erratically. "Hey, it's gonna be okay," Constantine said, trying to sound comforting. "Those were just words. They only have power over you if you let them." He placed a hand on Lawrence's shoulder.

 

"Don't touch me!" Lawrence exploded abruptly, smacking Constantine's hand away. He sat back upright but still seemed to curl in on himself, crossing his arms and looking away from Constantine. "Just go away!" he continued harshly. "Leave me alone! Stop making everything worse! I hate you, just leave me alone!"

 

"I was only trying to help," Constantine protested, taken aback by the violent negative reaction. "Can you…" he trailed off, grasping for something even vaguely useful to say. "Can you at least trust me on that?”

 

That had apparently been the wrong thing. "You have no idea where that’s gotten me," was all Lawrence said, before grabbing his bag and tearing out of the cafeteria at not-quite-a-run.

 

Something about this incident had set off him off worse than the first time, and it was unnerving how much of that seemed directed at Constantine — he genuinely couldn't tell if Lawrence was taking his stress out on him (kind of understandable, given no other available targets) or if he was actually that upset with Constantine in particular. He'd thought that Lawrence's irritation was mostly a front, he hadn't ever seemed genuinely angry until now.

 

"/At least tell me what I did wrong.../" he sang softly to himself, finishing his lunch in brooding silence.

  
Lawrence had left behind his own lunch barely touched, and Constantine stacked the tray on top of his empty one with a sigh, feeling guilty about the wasted food even if it wasn't technically his fault. As he did so, his eyes caught on something else left on the table. A slightly battered, journal-sized notebook with a dark violet cover was sitting there, the word "Chemistry" written in precise, block letters in the white box on the front. Probably the chemistry notes Lawrence had been working on earlier. He shrugged and dumped it in his backpack. It was unclear if Lawrence would actually want to see him, but it wasn't like Constantine didn't know where he'd be. He even had a legitimate excuse, he'd wanted to talk to Mr. Dé anyway.


End file.
